Skirts and Blush
by Yaoi's Consort
Summary: Baljeet is a crossdressing pole dancer. Buford is a mafia boss. The rest of my summary doesn't fit in here :P.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

**Hey everyone! I'm back with more delicious B-squared! You may have already read my collab story with Seraphina Greene, _, but if you haven't, I suggest you do! On with the story!**

**Summary: Slight AU. Everyone is about twenty to twenty-five years old. Baljeet works as a university professor during the day, but at night he becomes Bally (I'm so unimaginative :P), an exotic **_**female **_**pole dancer at the ****XXX Girls****. Only his fellow employees and his boss know his secret, but what will happen when a depressed mafia boss gets dragged to the club by his goons and finds a 'girl' who looks startlingly like his childhood friend and crush? AND she's being molested by a group of underage students?!**

**Warnings: Cursing, smut, citrusy goodness, yaoi (aka homosexual relationships), cross-dressing! Sultry?Baljeet, and tough!Buford.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing! If I did, everything would scar straight men all over the world for the rest of their lives.**

**Enjoy!**

Baljeet sighed as he applied makeup backstage. Isabella was out on her pole right now, stealing all the customers away from the other girls with her new boob job. Like him, she only worked here part time, and spent most of the day as a housewife, cleaning the house she and Phineas had bought when they were newlyweds, and taking care of the twins.

Baljeet hoped today he could take out his frustration on the pole, and get paid for it. The last week at the university had been hell, and he had not been able to stop in everyday to give a show like he would normally. His students were hellish, bombarding him with blank assignments and doodled on tests, spitballs and thumbtacks and-GOD! Do not let him rattle on about the innuendo. Every single day, they complimented on his choice of clothing, his face, and his hands. Only they added to the compliments by stroking him, touching him, and molesting him! He worked at an all-male body university, and what boy wouldn't go for the cute little teacher with perfect grammar and a white smile, add to it an exotic Indian look that just made him seem all the more desirable. He also took the train, and he _always_ got stuck in rush hour, and that was a lot of fun! _If you enjoy being groped, molested, and fondled by strangers on a train for two hours a day. _

Baljeet sighed again, applying the finishing touches to his ensemble, and stepping out on stage, instantly getting catcalls and customers as he stepped up to his pole. He's been an especially good seller, so he got his own personalized pole which he could decorate if he chose to. (He chose to leave it blank; he didn't think that he'd sell quite as well if he decorated it with long words and Shakespearean quotes.)

He wrapped a leg around his pole, and began to grind against it, tilting his head back and gazing heatedly at his audience, locking eyes with several customers before turning around and eyeing the boys on the other side of the pole, showing off his ass to the ones he'd just locked gazes with.

He trailed a hand up his side; resting it on his hip while he spun around, and then allowed his hand to travel up to his mouth, darting out a tongue and trailing it down his fingers, licking them in a way he knew was sure to get a man hard.

In his high heels, he got off his pole, and began to simply swing around it, so close to the crowd as he twirled that he could smell there putrid breath. He resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose at their open, panting mouth and bloodshot eyes.

He worked in a seedy establishment, but it had its morals. No prostitution, no groping unless paid for or allowed by the dancer, and no drugging the girls. Baljeet had fallen prey one night to one of the stupid ones that decided they didn't need rules.

~Flashback~

_Baljeet had just wrapped up his last show for the night, and was mingling with some of the more respectable customers. They knew the rules, and the consequences for not following those rules. They treated him well, and he was as relaxed as he could be in the place when some man had asked if he could buy 'her' a drink. In his lethargy, he accepted. _

_Three drinks later, he was feeling woozy and he couldn't think straight. He could feel hands on his hips, massaging, and he tried to get up and walk away, but the hands just tightened their grip, dragging him onto the stranger's lap. The newbie started to rub his erection up against his ass, and began massaging Baljeet's 'breasts'. Baljeet moaned out as he rubbed against his nipples, and feebly tried to escaped, growing more panicked as his body refused to listen to him. He let out a cry, quickly stifled by a hand, but noticed by the bouncers. Two of them dragged the protesting man to the back alley to be punished, and one brought him backstage, where Matilda, another dancer, who worked part-time as a nurse, gave him a pill so he could sleep through the affects._

_He had woken up with a pounding headache, and promised himself never to accept a drink or a meal from another man since._

~End of Flashback~

And he'd stood by that promise since. He went down on all fours, crawling along the platform, like a jungle cat about to pounce. Slinking along, he took bills thrown in his face, and stuffed them in his underwear and bra, making them appear fuller and more tantalizing. Baljeet smirked as he stood back up, stretching and sauntered back to his pole, sliding his leg up, up , _up _the side of it, 'til he was almost parallel the cold metal, bending his back and smirking at his drooling fans upside down.

Taking this chance, his eyes drifted across the sea of faces, taking in those who were regulars and treating them to a wink, and those who were new and giving them a little grind. But then he saw _them_.

His eyes widened and his mouth parted in a gasp as he saw a few fellows sitting in the corner of the club. They were staring at him intensely, hands on their crotch as they eyed him hungrily, undressing him with their eyes. But what was even more disturbing was the fact that he recognized them.

_They were his students. _His problem students, who were bombarding him with unfinished work and extreme innuendos. Who never showed up to class on time. Who were always well behaved in other classes, to a point.

_His students._

_And they were looking at him like they were about to eat him._

Baljet shivered, spinning on his pole to try and avoid their gaze. He had to get out of here, and quick.

_He had to escape._

He quickly wrapped up his show, pasting a fake smile on his face as he sauntered off stage, and quickly got into more comfortable and less revealing clothes, putting his bills in his pay jar, to be split among his bosses and then given to him.

He didn't take his makeup off; walking out of the employee entrance would be a sure-fire way to alert anyone to who he really was. He grabbed his bag, carrying the bare essentials. His tennis shoes splashed in a puddle as he rushed away, to try and get to his car. Walking past an alley, he realized it was too late.

_They were already there._

He felt a hand on his mouth and another on his waist as he was smashed against the dirty wall of a slummy apartment. He tried to struggle as he felt hands lift up his shirt, rubbing his chest and multiple hands thrust themselves into his pants, squeezing his manhood and causing him to cry out in pain and forced pleasure. He dropped his bag as he felt hot breath in his ear and he shivered as a tongue licked his ear, leaving a wet slimy trail behind.

"Stop struggling, teach. It'll only make things harder."

_And they knew who he was._

He kept silent as they ravished his body, silent tears coming to his eyes as he panted through the hands still covering his mouth.

_Would this be how it ended?_

Suddenly, he heard a shout of pain followed by cried of alarm and running footsteps as the boys restraining his body ran away, the lack of support causing him to slide down the wall, his head resting on the dirty brick and his body shaking terribly. He heard a voice say;

"Pack 'er up. I want her taken to my place NOW."

And that's when the stress became too much for the exhausted male, and he fell unconscious as he was lifted up by strong, muscular hands.


	2. Chapter 2

Skirts and Blush

Chapter Two

**Sorry for the wait! Wow. That was…angsty. Well, there's still gonna be some angst here, a bit less, so enjoy! Same warnings apply, and this is kinda a flashback to when Buford's in the club and sees Baljeet then saves him afterward. Remember, writers love reviews!**

Buford was depressed, to say the least. He'd been moping around his headquarters, fiddling with his paperwork and sleeping in far too late. The reason?

Baljeet.

~Flashback Dream Thing~

_Three weeks ago, he'd had a dream about the two of them, laughing and playing on the playground, Buford taunting and playfully punching him on the shoulder. He'd been pushing him on the swing when it happened. The swing came back without Baljeet on it. He looked around, frantically trying to find him, but he was nowhere to be seen._

_He grew more panicked as he saw Baljeet, lying on his side near the old oak tree. He rushed over to him, picking the frail body up in his arms._

"_Baljeet? Baljeet!" he screamed at the Indian boy, clutching him tightly to his chest. He couldn't feel a heartbeat; he couldn't feel anything from Baljeet but…_

_Cold._

_He was so cold, cold as death. His skin was getting paler, his body seeming to melt in his hands. Buford tried to let go as the flesh fell off his nerd's body, but a bony hand reached up and grabbed his throat, choking him._

_The skeleton smiled up at him, the only resemblance to Baljeet being his eyes, that beautiful, serene brown that Buford could lose himself in. But right now, he felt like he was drowning in mud._

"_Come with me, Buford. Join me, and let us stay together, forever."_

_At that time, Buford had awoken in a cold sweat, panting and clutching his throat as he felt the ghostly touch of bones clinging to his flesh. He'd shivered, and gone out to try and get rid of the feeling that he had completely lost Baljeet._

~End of Flashback Dream Thing~

Buford shivered as he remembered the chill he'd felt deep in his soul. He shook his head, trying to concentrate on the pole show he was watching. He knew that it was Isabella dancing onstage, but he kept his eyes intent on the stage, hoping to convince the boys around him that he was entranced by the sloppy job being done. Isabella had a very nice bod, but that didn't make her a very good seductress.

Yes, he was in a strip club.

You know why?

His grunts were incompetent.

They thought he was frustrated.

_Sexually._

Kill. Me. Now.

Suddenly, someone let out a whoop. "It's Bally!" Instantly, everyone ran over to a certain pole, and Buford's breath caught in his throat as he caught sight of an exotic Indian girl swagger out, a sultry smile on her lips and a hand on her hip.

She looked so much like Baljeet.

Why here?

Why now?

She captured his attention, grinding against the pole, swinging around it, sauntering around the stage.

She was _really _good at this.

She did it again, her eyes capturing his in a lusty gaze as she slowly slid her body against the pole, her tongue darting out to lick her lips.

Buford rumbled as he felt his pants tighten.

She was too good; this _had_ to be a crime.

Buford's attention now settled completely on her light chocolate skin, the swish of her loose, but revealing clothing, and those chocolate eyes that just screamed, _Come up here and fuck me._

Buford groaned again as she continued to steal the stage, her techniques causing his head to spin and his pants to tighten farther.

They might even be a little damp.

Then she started to bend backwards.

Farther.

Farther.

_Farther._

Buford growled at the thoughts of what he could do to that lithe body in bed, bending it back as far as that.

He watched her look around, giving out winks and grinds to her audience as they whooped and catcalled. She slipped down to the crowd, sticking bills in her bra and panties, accentuating her curves. And then he saw something peculiar that no one else noticed in their sex high.

She flinched.

He followed her gaze to a table of young men, most likely underage but still there nonetheless. They were leering at her, similar to the way that all the others were, but they appeared to…recognize her. From the way that she was beginning to speed up her movements, her eyes slightly panicked, he guessed that it was unwelcome recognition.

Slapping a plastic smile onto her face, she quickly sauntered offstage, her hands swinging at her side. The young men got up as well, exiting the building with nasty, predatory smirks on their normally plain faces. Buford got up as well, suspicious to their intentions to the female that had been dancing just a short while ago.

His boys followed him out of the building, into the seedy night streets, the only illumination a blinking street light. He looked around furtively, trying to figure out where she was. He heard shoes splashing on the rain-soaked ground, and followed the sound.

The splashing stopped abruptly, until he heard a scream of pained pleasure. His face reddening with rage, almost purple, sprinted towards the sound. It was terrible, the concept of rape; there was no way he could ignore it, especially now that he had found—what?

Could it be that it was Baljeet? No, no, impossible—Baljeet had gone to that college for elite out of state—plus, he could never look that good in drag. He couldn't be back. Not now, after all these years—!

Rounding a corner, he spotted the same teens ravaging the woman in an ally; silent tears flowed freely down her face. He felt his blood boil and his vision went red as he stalked towards them, punching the first one he got his hands onto in the face, breaking his nose with a _crack _and a spurt of blood.

The bratty teen screeched, attracting the attention of the others, deterring them from their current task. They paled as their gazes met his, a charging bull that couldn't be stopped; with a few shouts of profanity, they fled. Two of the boys accompanying him went after them, to finish them off. Buford picked up the girl—she had slumped against the wall, her eyes half-lidded.

"Pack 'er up. I want her taken to my place NOW." He grunted. He felt her slip into unconsciousness as he walked towards the car, another grunt taking her from my arms and placing her carefully in the back seat of my car.

They sped for their place; Buford's head buzzing with unanswered questions as he watched this mystery that had captured his attention sleep peacefully next to him, her head resting on his shoulder.

**Sorry for the wait again! Well, yep, this is angsty…I may have to change the category. The next chapter is probably going to take a little longer than this one—it's gonna be from Baljeet's POV again ****. So until then, read, review, and give me some ideas for new fics!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

**I'M NOT DEAD! I am so so so so so so so so sorry, everyone! The thing is, I had TWO WHOLE FUCKING CHAPTERS DONE. TWO. CHAPTERS. And guess what? The stupid thing decided it wanted to hop on my flashdrive and get lost on a trip 3 days from my house in the mountains.**

**Thanks for all your support, guys; it means a lot to me. Everyone who follows/favorites me or this story or wrote a review, thanks for all your support. Just know that it's because of you that it's finally being written.**

**Enjoy and remember reviews! I'm hitting a block at the moment, but I'm very susceptible to ideas ;).**

Baljeet was dreaming.

He was surrounded by clouds, light and fluffy. He didn't want to move, letting his head fall back on the comfortable softness. He didn't have anything at all this comfortable in his conservative apartment.

He felt strong arms holding him, cradling him, making him feel safe.

But…whose arms were they?

Eyes snapping open, he bolted upward, head still stuffed with cotton. Giving himself a moment to wake up, he started to look around, and his jaw dropped at the sight.

It was like a palace! The entire room was cream-colored, full of luxury and comfort. The bed was humongous, round and piled with pillows, as he learned when he crawled off. He flinched slightly, feeling his feet slip into a pair of slippers placed at the base of the bed.

He started again when the door opened. "Madam? May I come in?" A voice inquired.

"Who are you? W-where am I?" Baljeet cursed the slight tremor in his voice.

"May I come in?" he asked again.

"Yes, please do."

Baljeet watched warily as the man entered. He was a rather old man, with a thick gray mustache, almost the epitome of a stereotypical butler, tailcoat and everything.

"Is there anything you require, madam?"

Baljeet reddened as his stomach spoke for him, rumbling loudly in the quiet. The butler smiled knowingly.

"The master of the house wishes you to dine with him in the breakfast room; when you have finished preparing yourself, he asks that you join him for brunch."

"Who are you?"

The man's eyebrows rose, surprised. "Oh! Do forgive my rudeness, ma'am. My name is Lucian. I serve as the head butler to the man you saved you last night."

Now it was Baljeet's turn to be surprised. "The man who saved me is the master of this house?"

"Yes, miss. He's a rather 'hands-on' type of person. Will you join him for brunch then?"

"I…I suppose." He said hesitantly.

Lucian smiled. "The master will be happy to hear that. All your things are located in the dresser, should you need them. There are several dresses in the armoire, and the bath is through that door." He gestured as he talked, pointing them out. "I would suggest the sundress. He appreciates simplicity over fashion."

Baljeet blinked, slightly overcome by his brisk manner. "But, why-"

"He's interested in you. He's been muttering about some childhood friend since he came back last night. I'm not sure why you dress as you do, but I'll play along for now." Seeing the question on the tip of his tongue, he responded, "Who do you think dressed you for bed?" Baljeet glanced down, noticing the pajamas he was clothed in.

"I'll leave you to prepare yourself. If you require anything, I'll be outside." And with that, he left, closing the door silently behind him, leaving a frazzled Baljeet alone.

Thoughts buzzed through his head. Childhood friend? Could it possibly be-

No. No, no, no, no, no. It couldn't possibly be him. Not here. Not now. He focused on getting ready for the brunch, heading for the bathroom to clean off the grime of last night's encounter. He prepared the bath, glancing quizzically at the multitude of bottles decorating the counter space. He didn't think anyone could use that much product in a lifetime. He experimented with a few bottles, finding some bubble bath mix and adding it to the water. He slipped into the tub, reveling in the hot water as he relaxed, a pleasant fragrance wafting up from the water.

He shivered as his fingers ghosted over a bruise, remembering the feel of larger, rougher hands holding him down, lecherous gazes and greedy fingers biting into him-

He banished the thought with a shake of the head. He didn't need to think about that right now, not when he has someone to thank for keeping it from going any further. He washed, surrounded by foamy bubbles, cushioning him as he raised a leg up onto the rim, grabbing a loofa and running it across his skin. He marveled at the smoothness, reflecting on how he'd lost the thin hair that had one decorated his skin.

~Flashback of Awesomeness~

"_I do not wish to have my legs waxed, Isabella," he said, applying a light gloss to his lips. "You know I shave, and I prefer to avoid painful situations as much as possible."_

"_Aw, c'mon, Baljeet!" she wheedled, balancing on a stool as she tipped it onto two legs. "It'll be fun! The boss gave us all a big raise, and I wanna splurge it on a spa!"_

"_You know I can't go."_

"_But you can come with me to get your legs waxed." he shook his head. "C'mon, Baljeet, please? Hey!" he turned to see what caused her outburst, and eyed her warily, the suspicious light glittering in her eyes not comforting him in the least. _

"_What now?"_

"_I bet when you get your legs waxed, you'll scream."_

"_Wha-?!" Baljeet jumped in his chair. "I never-"_

"_How about this. We both go get our legs waxed, and whoever screams has to buy the other person something. I'll get you that calculator you've been eying." Baljeet couldn't help the saliva that gathered in his mouth. But he remembered the way the buttons had gleamed, and the way the screen seemed to beckon him—- he swallowed, and glared at Isabella as she snickered._

"_Fine. You're on."_

_~Time Skip~_

"_How did you manage to convince me to do this?"_

"_Calculator."_

"_Of course."_

_He flinched as the hot wax was applied to his legs, hands clenching on the armrests of the chair. The dark-skinned boy trembled as the paper was placed on top of the rapidly cooling wax, and smoothed over. He glanced at Isabella, whose legs were receiving the same treatment. He licked dry lips._

"_Ready?"_

"_Ready."_

"_3…2…1…PULL!"_

"_Ngh!" Baljeet clenched his jaw as the hairs were ripped off his legs, a small whimper filtering through gritted teeth. Dimly, he heard Isabella shout out something, but he was too focused on not screaming himself to listen. The pain was excruciating; he would never understand why someone would do this voluntarily._

_Eventually, the throbbing settled down, and he looked at his legs, fingers skimming over the reddened, smooth skin. His legs had never felt so soft, even though they still pulsed with a dull pain. He glanced over to Isabella, grinning as he looked upon her boneless appearance._

"_Looks like you owe me a calculator." His grin only widened as Isabella groaned._

"_Geez, I never thought it would be that bad." She huffed._

"_You still owe me a calculator. By the way," he asked, "What were you going to have me get you?"_

"_I was going to make you speak in contractions for a whole week."_

"_Well, that will never happen. They are the-"_

"_Frankenstein's monsters of grammar, yeah, yeah, you've told me before." She grunted, standing up and wobbling on her newly waxed legs. She smirked cheekily at Baljeet. "Let's go show these babies off."_

~End of Flashback of Awesomeness~

He was brought out of his daze by a sharp tap on the door.

"Miss? Are you all right?" it was Lucian, worry evident in his voice.

"I am fine, Lucian," he replied, stepping out of the tub and wrinkling his nose at the sight of his withered toes. "I am going to come out, so please, return to your position in the hall."

"Of course."

He stepped out of the tub, listening to the soft footfalls growing faint. Rubbing off the water that still clung to him with a fluffy towel; he stepped over to the sink, picking up a razor and some shaving cream to get rid of any morning stubble. He stepped back into the bedroom, temporarily dazzled at the sight. It was still luxurious, and far more expensive than he could ever afford on a university instructor's salary.

He opened up the armoire, taking out the sundress Lucian had suggested he wear. Might as well; none of his own clothing would be suitable for a brunch, or if it was, not feminine enough to convince anyone he was a woman.

He stepped over to a closet, opening it and dazzled again. The entire closet was filled from top to bottom with _shoes;_ flats, heels, boots: you name it, it was in the closet. As Baljeet went further into the closet, he spotted shoes made by Jimmy Choo, Christian Louboutin, Manolo Blahnik, Louis Vuitton, Walter Steiger, Alexander McQueen, Brian Atwood, Stuart Weitzman, Miu Miu, and he even spotted a whole row of Guccis*. He grabbed a pair of brown sandals, almost tripping over a pair of wedges.

Reentering the bedroom, he sat down at a vanity, looking questionably about the bulk of makeup laid out on the space in front of him. Seriously, who would be able to use these things without having at least three lifetimes to go through it all?

He rummaged through the pile, eventually locating lip gloss, blush, foundation, eye shadow, eyeliner, and mascara. He applied a loose layer of foundation, adding a little blush to bring out the color in his cheeks, and the eye products to make his eyes pop and draw attention to his face.

He hadn't worked as a pole dancer without picking up a few tricks.

He would need more attention on his face—he didn't have any of his implants with him; Isabella bought them as a joke gift. His audience had packed the house for an entire month. Plus, the makeup would hide anything that might give him away, and he would heighten his voice to make it a bit more feminine.

He fluffed his hair, still a bit damp and less curly than it normally was. As a result, it hung over his ears, almost touching his shoulders. He slipped his feet out of the slippers and into the sandals. He stroked a brush through his hair; once, just to make sure it would stay, and approached the door. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door out into the hall.

Lucian turned, giving him a cursory once-over, and nodded. "It will do. Here," He held out a pair of gloves. "They go well with the dress."

Baljeet took them, slipping them onto his hands. They seemed to make his fingers longer, his hands more feminine. Tight gloves seemed to do that.

"Now, if you would follow me, I will take you to the brunch room." Lucian started off in one direction, Baljeet trailing behind.

"There is one thing I wish to ask you, miss." Lucian asked, still facing forward.

"Yes?"

"What is your name?"

"Um...Bally. Bally...Patel." Baljeet said, using his stage name and the last name of his neighbors.

Lucian turned around, looking at him with dismay. "I meant _real _name, but I suppose that will do." He shrugged. "Ah, well, nothing _I _can do. Please, follow me." He started up, just a bit faster.

Lucian led him through a maze of corridors and hallways, decorated with portraits of people Baljeet didn't know, but still felt a pang of recognition every time he looked into their small, deep blue eyes. He attempted to keep track, but without knowing the layout of the house, he quickly lost his place, following Lucian blindly past vases and more portraits.

Eventually they arrived at the room, Baljeet slightly out of breath and almost bumping into Lucian as he stopped.

"We've arrived, Miss Patel. I'll introduce you." He opened the doors, dark oaken slabs of intricate design. "Sir, the madam is ready for you."

"Bring 'er in." Baljeet winced at the rough words, but came forward as Lucian gestured for him to come in, his eyes lowered to the floor. "Sir, this is Miss Bally Patel."

"'Morning, sunshine."

Baljeet flushed at the term of endearment, looking up to attempt a retort. His cheeks blanched, and his eyes widened as he looked upon his savior. Lucian, blissfully unaware of Baljeet's reaction, continued relentlessly.

"Miss Patel, my master, Buford Von Stomm, head of the Von Stomm family."

***All brands taken from therichest . com. I was just like, hmm, what's an expensive kind of shoe? GOOGLE! And clicked on the first link.**

**So...yeah.**

**I'm an awful person.**

**I left you on a cliffhanger. **

**And I'm probably not going to update for another three months.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

**I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY I'M SO MOTIVATED.**

**MAYBE IT'S YOU GUYS. **

**MAYBE IT'S CAFFEINE.**

**MAYBE IT'S BECAUSE I'VE BEEN READING FANFICTION AND THINKING, "THIS PAIRING NEEDS MORE PORN."**

**SO HERE YOU GO.**

**No porn yet, but it's getting there.**

"_Miss Patel, my master, Buford Von Stomm, head of the Von Stomm family."_

This…this couldn't be happening. It couldn't it couldn't, it couldn't, not _here, _not _now, _not _this way…_

"Miss Patel? MISS PATEL!?"

_Thump._

**See what I did there? Baljeet was so shocked, he used contractions! Wonder what's going to happen next?...**

Buford stood up, the chair hitting the back of his legs as it fell backwards, falling with a _thump! _ not unlike that which was still echoing through the room. Lucian was leaning over the woman-Miss Patel, such a pretty name-frantically trying to revive her.

"Miss Patel! Miss Patel!" Buford hurried to her side, her face reminding him so much of _him-_

"Lucian." Buford's voice sounded strange to his own ears. "I'll take her back to her room. Prepare a little something for us."

Lucian looked at him oddly, just as unnerved by his abrupt change in behavior as Buford himself was. Still, he nodded hesitantly. "Yes, sir."

Picking her up, Buford had a moment of déjà vu, the actions of last night replaying in his head.

_-his fist, crunching into a face, breaking bone-_

_-blood singing in his ears as he faced them off, fingers itching to break-_

_-tenderness as he held her, recognition to familiar features that couldn't _possibly_ be _his_-_

He shook off the lingering thoughts, now in front of the door of the room he'd lent her. Awkwardly holding her cradled in one arm-how was she so _light?_-he opened the door, pushing it shut with his foot. He set her on the bed, stepping away from the sleeping beauty.

But he didn't leave. He continued to stare, his eyes roaming up and down her form. She was lithe, and-leaning over to let his hand run over her upper arm-was covered in tightly corded muscle. She was an oddity, a reminder of his past that brought harsh memories to the front of his mind.

~WHY ARE YOU SO FUCKING ANGSTY Flashback~

"_Just leave me alone, Buford!"_

"_Aw, c'mon, 'Jeet. Lighten up. We're getting out of school, we should celebrate!"_

_It's the end of their senior year of high school, and Baljeet's only just starting to grow into his body. Buford's developed fully, quarterback for the football team, and as a result, popular and a chick magnet. _

_They'd started growing apart in the middle of their junior year; Baljeet managed to skip a grade because of his smarts, and nearly had a heart attack over it. But with Buford's growing circle of friends and Baljeet's natural reticence and awkwardness around people, it was bound to happen._

_They still walk home together, though, and occasionally they're joined by the rest of their childhood troupe, but lately Phineas, Ferb, and Isabella have been staying back for reasons unknown. _

_So Buford's not able to read him quite as well, and isn't sure what he's done wrong when Baljeet whirls around, glaring at him with dark chocolate orbs._

"_Celebrate? CELEBRATE?!" Buford winces at Baljeet's high, harsh tone. "I have spent the last eighteen years of my life in school! I am not going to go celebrate it being over."_

_Buford has never truly understood some parts of Baljeet. This is one of them. "Why not? Now we can drink, get jobs, and get out of the house. We don't have to listen to our parents anymore!"_

_Baljeet just continues to glare. "I am going off to college." He announces, abruptly, in that matter-of-fact tone, and the wind is knocked out of Buford._

"_Wh...what?" his voice a whisper. "You're...going ta college?"_

"_Yes. I was accepted with full scholarships."_

"_Where?"_

"_None of your business."_

"_Tell me!" Buford doesn't know where this yearning to know comes from, to know where Baljeet's going and when he's coming back._

_Baljeet's silent, and Buford feels a bit of panic crawl into his heart before Baljeet mutters, _

"_Harvard."_

_And Buford feels all the air leave his lungs as he hears that one, bitter word. People think he's stupid, because of the way he acts, and he supposes he is, but he's smart enough to know Harvard's in Massachusetts, and it's one of the most, if not the number one, universities in America. _

_And so very, very far away from Danville._

_Buford doesn't know what he said or did after that, but he finds himself at home, sobbing into his bed, his mom murmuring comforting babble into his ears as she pets his head._

_He doesn't know why this upsets him so much, and he becomes a ghost, gradually separating himself from his group of friends, drinking, making mischief, until even his mild-tempered mother gets fed up with it, sending him to Chicago to go spend some time with his uncle, Yvon, to "learn to control himself."_

_And Uncle Yvon tells him about their family._

~End of WHY ARE YOU SO FUCKING ANGSTY Flashback~

Buford shakes himself from his musings as Miss Patel stirs, but doesn't wake. His eyes roam her figure again, taking in the curves and dips of her body. And suddenly, he wants to see her awake, see her eyes widen in shock and her voice exclaim indignation, because she could be Baljeet's female counterpart, the way she acts, her passivity and then the fire he'd seen in her eyes when he'd called her sunshine.

And he remembers reading a story, some cheesy little book Baljeet had gotten at the library and read as a bedtime story, about a woman who awoke by the kiss of true love.

So he takes the chance, leaning over Bally and placing his lips on hers.

She doesn't react, at first. Her lips are soft and pliant under him, and he goes a little further, teasing them open with his tongue. Her mouth opens, and he slips it inside, and now he can't stop. He cups her head, deepening the kiss, and he feels her starts to murmur against his lips and her tongue move against his, and he lets his hands travel to her sides, feather light against the creamy fabric. His hands travel down to her leg, and he strokes her calf, her dress hitching up to reveal more tantalizing flesh.

But he feels her regaining consciousness, now struggling under him, and he tries to pull away, when Bally's hand grasps his.

He spends half a second marveling at the strength of her grip, before he finds himself sprawled on the bed, lying on top of her. Her brow is furrowed, her eyes half opened and dazed, her mouth swollen and panting and Buford can't help when he goes in again.

His eyes are closed when Baljeet wakes up and realizes what's happening.

**I like cliffhangers too damn much.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**So, yeah, when we left off, Buford was basically molesting a sleeping Baljeet. **

**And Baljeet was waking up.**

**Did I forget to mention he's a lip virgin in this story? (I'm just like, **_**no he never kissed Wendy under the mistletoe**_**)**

**I did?**

**Well, now you know.**

**And Baljeet's going to be indignant and pissed.**

**Did I also mention Baljeet had studied various martial arts?**

**...Buford's gonna get his shit handed to him.**

**...and I know nothing about martial arts. I just Googled some stuff. And from what I've seen, it all looks like porn.**

When he wakes up to a tongue in his mouth, Baljeet's first feeling is confusion.

Then indignation.

Then anger.

And a cold, fizzling fear when he opens his eyes wide and sees it belongs to Buford.

He'd felt the hands on his body, but one has travelled from his calf up to his thigh, and the other is rubbing his hip. A tremor passes through him as Buford's thumb rubs a circle around his hip, the other hand going up even further, almost touching his ass, and he needs to stop this (even though it feels so _good_) because he has to protect himself, protect his secret, keep Buford at arms' distance, put some space between them so he can _think-_

And his training kicks in.

Ever since that fateful night in the club, he's been devoting some of his time to learning martial arts and how to defend himself. He knows what to do when someone's on top of him, behind him, on his weak side, or armed.

And he's practiced until it's practically second nature.

The only reason it hadn't kicked in quicker was because of his shock. But now it starts up, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he hooks his leg around Buford's, so their positions switch, Baljeet on top and Buford underneath him.

His breath is coming heavily; Buford hadn't been giving him enough time to breathe. His eyes linger on Buford's chest, and he can feel the strong rise and fall, just a bit labored, and he shivers at what's prodding his behind. He raises his gaze to rest on bright blue eyes, pupils blown and lips swollen and wet. He raises a hand to wipe off his own lips, and at the feeling of dampness on his lips, he lets himself lash out.

"You barbarian! That was my first kiss!" and he claps his hand over his mouth, as though the accusation could be bottled in and Buford hadn't heard it. Buford's eyes widened and—Baljeet's not positive, it could have been a trick of the light—his pupils almost engulf his eyes, and his breathing gets even more labored.

The corner of Buford's mouth quirks up into a crooked smirk. "Well, beautiful, didn't know you were saving it for a special someone."

Baljeet feels indignant tears burn at the corners of his eyes, and he slaps Buford's face, not wanting to injure him to badly, even though he's just stolen something precious, something he'd though he would lose under a mistletoe, or over a romantic dinner, or as far away as his own marriage. But some little part of him has always said, _you're not saving it for that 'special someone'. You're saving it for Buford._

Because Buford _is _his special one, but it's more complex than that. He's his friend, his bully, his compatriot, his first love, and his _true _love. As he watches Buford's eyes bulge and his face redden with rage, he feels some sort of sick satisfaction at the expression.

Deftly clambering off Buford, he attempts to salvage what little poise he has left. "I thank you for saving me last night, sir, but please, do refrain from such actions." His tone is frosty as he brushes invisible dust off his dress, straightening it so the fabric drapes around his legs rather than hiked up at his waist.

"So I was right. You do have a little fire in ya." Baljeet stiffens at his tone. It's condescending and confident, and—Baljeet's eyes widen—just a little _awed_. "How 'bout ya come live with me? I'm sure your own place ain't as great as mine."

"Your words are true. My place is not as grand as this." Baljeet gives him that, but he remains cold. "But I prefer my home to this."

"Ya can't be making that much on stripping."

"For your information, I do not strip. I dance."

"On stage, with a pole, like a stripper."

"There is a difference."

"And what difference is that?"

"When I am on stage, I do not take off my clothes." He hears Buford swallow. "Banish the thought from your head."

"But I didn't—"

"Banish it."

Baljeet is still tense, and surprised at how easy the conversation comes. It shouldn't be so easy. "And, as it is, I live quite nicely."

"Really? How?"

"I have a day job."

"Where?"

"I do not need to tell you that."

Buford looks at him quizzically, his eyes searching him for an answer that Baljeet won't give. If he tells him, Buford will probably figure out Baljeet's here, maybe ask 'Bally' about it, and ultimately put two and two together. Buford may act dim, but he's anything but dumb.

"Ya know, I just noticed you never use contractions." Baljeet stiffens up again. When did he relax? "I had a friend who would do that. Maybe it's something about your culture, or...something."

"Interesting." The tone of his voice makes it clear that it's anything but, but...Baljeet wants to hear more, despite the fresh ache that Buford's use of past tense and just talking about him creates.

Buford shrugs, the motion causing his chest to rise. Blown pupils lock with his own, but he glances away, ignoring the gaze burning into him. Cheeks flaming, he brushes himself off, standing up stiffly. "I thank you for saving me. If you will excuse me, I must be getting back. Today is Saturday, and I have to go over some of my work that is due Monday. If you will tell me the way to the exit, I will be on my way."

Buford propped himself upon his elbow, letting his eyes pass over the figure in front of him. Ruddy cheeks, slightly teary eyes, nervously twitching hands—

There was nothing he wanted more than to have her right then and there. She was perfect, for him. She reminded him of Brigette, but…there was something undeniably different about her. It didn't really have anything to do with her not being French; maybe it was her self-confidence, that air of pride that emanated from her even as she nervously waited for him. Baljeet had the same air—proud, yet meek, and at times impossibly frigid. This was what Bally exuded, and just made Buford crave her more, crave that familiarity that he's lost for so long—

"Hellooo? Are you getting off the bed to show me out, or should I call Lucian?" Buford blinked, taken out of his thoughts by her voice. High-pitched, just like Baljeet's had been.

"Don't get yer panties in a bunch, princess." He scratched the back of his head, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, standing on slightly unsteady legs. "I'll show ya out. But just so ya know," he grinned, predatory, and Baljeet shivered under the intense gaze, "I'll be back at the club next time ya put on a show."

**Sorry. I got impatient for sexy times.**


End file.
